Showing posts with label Michela Walters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michela Walters. Show all posts

Thursday, June 18, 2015

Michela Walters Week 155: Solace

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Solace

The alarm rung in her ear, exactly at five oh five, just like it did everyday. She got up well before her parents roused from their daily hangover. Dani made sure to be out of the house early enough to give her an hour to jog on the school’s track before homeroom. For some reason, running gave her strength, an odd sense of calm before she had to fight her way through the day of being teased and tormented first by her classmates, and then by her alcoholic parents. If it wasn’t for her Grandmother’s passing, leaving the house and some money for her family, they’d likely be homeless and Dani in foster care.

Grabbing her backpack, she hustled down the stairs, avoiding the fifth step that had a little creak, not that it could wake her parents. Yesterday had been payday at the mill, and her dad had splurged on something better than the rotgut they usually drank. Hopping on her bike, an old ten speed she’d gotten for ten bucks at a garage sale, she rode up to the school. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when she arrived at the top of the hill where Ben Franklin High School stood, looking rundown and sad in the morning sunlight. She locked up her bike and backpack, stowing it beneath the stairwell before jogging over to to the track.

Opening up the gate, she was startled to see another person running laps. She’d been coming to the track every morning for three years and had never seen anyone here before. The guy was wiry and wearing a grey striped beanie and black hoodie. She couldn’t quite make out the face, but her spidey sense wasn’t pinging off the walls. He looked like just another person out for a morning run. Instead of her usual warm up of a casual jog twice around the track, she sauntered towards the bleachers and stretched her legs, appearing to not care that someone had encroached into her safe place.

The guy rounded the near corner and it was then that Dani finally was able to see her interloper’s face. It was Josh Watterson, a quiet boy who was in a few of her classes. He seemed nice, or rather he’d never been mean to Dani, which was a step up from most of her classmates. The only thing she really knew about him was that he was an amazing artist. His work hung in various cases around the school, many boasting ribbons from some art show or another. Figuring he was harmless she decided to get on with her routine.

Waiting until Josh was on the far side of the track, she began to run, her legs pumping in time with her breath. Two inhales for one exhale kept her on pace to run as far as she could go until the first buses began to arrive, when she’d make her way into the showers to get ready for school.

With the thump of her feet and the wind in her face, her brain cleared, thoughts unscrambling from all the useless noise she had to put up with on a daily basis. The fighting at home, the bullying at school and the annoying customers she served at the Denny’s most evenings. Her life felt out of her control, and she hated it. She hated that her chances of ever getting out of Harbor Springs was slim to none. She despised her station in life, living in squalor with drunk parents whose only real concern with Dani was how much she made in tips, and how many beers it would buy them at the Dusty Road Tavern. How at the ripe old age of seventeen did her life already feel over? Swept out to sea by the rising tide of choices she had little to no control over.

She’d circled the track twice when she was shaken out of her runners trance by the thumping of Josh’s feet behind her. He was catching up. She slowed slightly, hoping he’d pass her by with little more than a nod of acknowledgement. Instead, he slowed his pace, matching hers perfectly to run side by side, stride for stride.

“Morning.” he huffed, a little out of breath.

Flicking her gaze sideways, she mumbled her hello and continued to drag out her steps, hoping he’d get the picture she didn’t want to chat. They ran beside each other for a few moments before he started again.

“What are you running from, Dani?” His astute question made her stumble, her stride becoming irregular for a moment.

Once she’d gotten back on pace she answered wryly, “Nothing, Josh. This is a track. We all run around in circles, never going anywhere.” With that, she sped up, trying to shake him off. She felt like he knew things she didn’t really want anyone to know and it frightened her to death.

He sped up, but instead of catching up and running beside her, he shouted to the back of her, “You know I see you, right? Not just what you want people to see, but who you really are. I see you, Dani Mitchell and someday you’ll stop running.”

Her heart sped up with his confession, but she didn’t stop jogging until she saw he was no longer around. She stopped, hands on her knees to suck in gasps of air, not realizing how fast she’d been running. She left the track and went about her day, the thought of Josh keeping tabs on her, nagged her, but she kept her head down and pretended that it didn’t matter. Even if he did see the real her, she wasn’t a sparkly package wrapped up with a pretty bow. Her life was dark, depressing and if he really wanted to get stuck in the mire, he could go right on ahead, but she wasn’t going to give him any fodder.

The next morning, her routine started all over again. She glanced into the mirror only to see exactly what she expected, tired, bloodshot eyes staring back at her. Her parents had come home late from the bar last night, arguing about some guy hitting on Dani’s mom. It escalated until her dad finally passed out on the sofa, a beer sitting limply in his hand. Once she was sure they were both asleep, or passed out, Dani made her way downstairs to clean up the mess of bottles, dinner plates and trash that had accumulated over the course of the day. She gently extricated the beer from her father’s grasp, tucking it into the refrigerator knowing a beer was a beer regardless of how flat it might be. “Mitchell family motto,” she growled tossing the trash into the bin.

She rode her bike along the quiet streets, her thoughts still stuck on the events of last night and didn’t realize Josh was standing at the gate waiting for her until she’d already parked and locked up her bike.

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” Dani grumbled, marching past the man who was hell bent on ruining her only peace and quiet.

He jogged up to her, touching her on the shoulder, begging her to wait. The cracked tone in his voice startled her and she spun to look at him. His lip was swollen, a dark bruise creeping up his neck across his chin. “What happened?” she asked, her hand automatically touching his cheek.

“Ah, you know. The football team doesn’t like-- Pansies like me.” he mumbled, waving a hand in front of his torso like Vanna White. “Jeez, just because someone likes art doesn’t turn me into a girl or anything.”

“And what’s wrong with being a girl?” Dani challenged, her annoyance at the classic ‘don’t be a girl”, and “you throw like a girl” as insults was a pet peeve she corrected automatically.

Josh bowed his head, and Dani immediately felt ashamed that she too had just hurt this boy’s feelings. “Sorry, just a little peeve of mine.” She touched his shoulder, reminding him that he approached her, “Did you need something?” Dani didn’t want to be rude but her run awaited and it sucked he was getting pushed around, but what did it have to do with her.

He tugged off his beanie, showing his thick mop of brown curly hair. He played with the hat while shuffling from one foot to the other. “Uh, I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday. I just wanted you to know you weren’t alone, you know?”

His confession was disarming and Dani quirked her head to the side like a dog trying to figure out a puzzle.

“I-- I don’t know. I guess maybe I needed to know that I wasn’t alone either?” He turned his head side to side, looking lost and uncomfortable. “I’m stupid. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bug you or anything. I-- guess I wanted to know if we could maybe be friends?” His face was starting to turn a hazy shade of tomato when he finally huffed with her silence and turned to stalk off.

Dani’s mind finally kicked into gear at the sight of his slumped shoulders wandering off towards the gate. “Wait, Josh.” She jogged over to him and gave him a hug from behind, something she wished someone would give to her. “I understand, and yes,” she whispered before turning back to the track to start her run. She turned her head and told him to join her if he liked, for once not minding the company.

From then on, Josh and Dani were inseparable. They hadn’t realized how similar their lives were and how much better life could look sitting beside a friend.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Michela Walters Week 151: Rising Tide

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Rising Tide

Water, it is said to be a life giving force and without it we would all perish from the earth. In reality, my worry is more of having too much of a good thing. The water has been rising for the past two hours as the storm roars towards my beachfront home. The basement is already a lost cause, and I helplessly pull soggy box after soggy box upstairs in hopes that my little cottage will still be standing when all is said and done.

The bottom falls out of the waterlogged box i’m carrying, dropping all my precious memories from my trip around the world, onto the basement stairs. My youthful and eager face stare up at me, a reminder of a time when I still believed the world could be a better place and that my life was going to be springtime and roses all the time. I chuck the remnants of wet cardboard over the railing, into the murky water below and slump onto the steps, thumbing through images of pyramids at sunrise, chickens on a bus rumbling through a rural Indian village, a rave in Germany and a sea of crazy outfits in Shinjuku. The images swirl in my mind, remembering how independent and strong I felt doing something so crazy as backpacking around the world after college. Now,after a vicious divorce and a life with not much other than my solitary freelance writing career, I have to wonder where I took a wrong turn.

“Probably in Albuquerque,” I mumble, a nod to my childhood Saturday morning cartoon addiction.

I stand up, knowing my time is running out and stomp up the stairs to find some sort of bin to put what’s left of my youth.

My phone beeps, signaling the storm warning bulletin I need to listen to but am afraid to do. Grabbing a trash bag from under the sink, I load it with all the memorabilia and load it into my gassed up car. There’s a lot of things I will leave behind and pray will be okay, but these mementos are not one of them. I’ve only just realized in the last five minutes that if I’m going to enjoy life and not just let it pass me by, I need to grab hold of the sense of wonder and enchantment from my youth. I haven’t a clue how I’m going to do it, but know I have a long and slow evacuation ahead of me to think about it.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Michela Walters Week 149: Therapy

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Therapy

“What the hell is that?” Ellie barked, wandering over to the weird artsy-crafty pinup figurine sitting on the shop table.

Her husband of ten years, turned from the bike he was restoring to see what she was complaining about. Mike wiped the grease off his hands and picked it up. “Oh, don’t you like it? Sierra made it for me in your likeness.”

Ellie held out her hand, asking to see the figure more closely. Now that she knew her niece had made it, she felt obligated to examine it further. Sierra had come to live with them after Ellie’s sister died from cancer a few months ago. It was a huge transition to go from having no kids to an instant family with a surly and mourning teenager, but Ellie loved the girl like her own long before she’d taken custody. She was still grieving and the change of city and high school was wreaking havoc on the teenager’s life. They were all doing the best they could, but it was challenging and rewarding all at the same time.

Saddling up behind her, Mike nuzzled his wife’s ear, peering down at the statue Ellie cradled in her hands. “She was trying to imitate my tattoo. Think she did a pretty darn good job of it too,” he mumbled into her neck.

“Oh my gosh, it does look me now that you say that.” Ellie hadn’t even put the connection together between the tattoo her husband had asked her to pose for their fifth wedding anniversary and the trinket resting in her palms. She studied if a few more seconds before releasing a heavy sigh. “She’s really talented, isn’t she?” Turning to look into his eyes, she saw his emotions beginning to peek through his tough tattooed exterior. He loved Sierra just as much, if not more than Ellie did. They’d tried to have kids for years with no luck, and after a while they just gave up hope of ever having children. They had a second chance to try and help their niece through this and maybe together they would help heal each other.

As if sensing he was close to breaking, he nodded roughly and went back to working on the bike. “I think the art therapy classes are really doing wonders.”

Ellie couldn’t agree more and rubbed her hand over his muscular back. “It was a great suggestion, Hon. Baby steps, right?” She gave him one last quick squeeze and went into the house to let Sierra know how much she liked the figurine, hoping a compliment would be another inch towards normalcy to creep them all towards a happier future.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Michela Walters Week 147: A Gator Tale

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: A Gator Tale

“The wind was whipping my hair in front of my eyes, making it difficult to see much of the course in front of me. Thankfully my sunglasses kept my eyes protected from the water spray and flying debris that whizzed by in my open aired buggy.

It was the third year I’d competed in Cypress’ Swamp Rat Race in my own buggy. I’d been a passenger before when my old man raced, but there was nothing like the thrill of being in control of your own car and your own destiny. The Swamp Rat Race was a twenty mile off road race that included mud running through the swamps of my small Louisiana parish. I’d just passed ol’ Roscoe Jones and was creeping up towards the front of the pack as I approached mile fifteen. I could taste victory and couldn’t wait for the whole town to buy me a beer and Justine’s Crawfish Shack. It was customary for the winner to have to be carried home, being too drunk to walk, and my liver couldn’t wait.

My throughs wandering into the winner circle had taken me off task and I chided myself for letting my focus drop. I was just approaching Devil’s drop when I heard a pop and my steering went rigid, sending me and my car careening down into the water below. Just my luck to have a crash within miles of victory. After coming to a rolling stop about twenty yards from the road, I assessed my injuries, knowing i’d probably knocked most of my sense outta my brain. My hand came back a bit bloody, but other than a headache and a few bruises, I figured I’d be fine.

The seat belt came undone, allowing me to start my slow slog towards land. Glancing above, I caught Roscoe pass me by without as much as a wave. I cursed my excellent camouflage paint job, and kept on swim-walking towards the road. I paused, just for a moment, the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up in warning. It felt like the whole swamp had gone still, silent and I spun around to see if my luck really had just run out.

There I was, sitting eye to eye with a less than charming gator, in full on approach. I tried to run, but the water was a shade too deep, and my swimming wasn’t going to win me any medals. With the quickness I’d never seen, his jaw clamped down on my leg, pulling me under.”

“Aw hon, don’t go filling up Jacob’s head with that nonsense. You lost your leg to diabetes five years ago, not to some ugly gator,” Wanda, the night nurse exclaimed just as he’d gotten to the good part of his story.

His roommate’s grandson loved his stories and Jess loved to regale anyone who’d listen with his glory years. “Aw, Wanda. You’re no fun.”

Jacob chuckled, and thanked him for the story, telling him he’d be back next weekend for another one.

“You’re gonna give that boy nightmares, Jess,” Wanda chastised, as she gave him his pain meds before bed.

He knew he didn’t have long, and his exciting memories, grandiose and perhaps a bit exaggerated, were all he had left. When an enthusiastic audience appeared, who was he to decline his tall tales?

“Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jessie went to sleep dreaming of road races, alligators and a girl named Justine.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Friday, April 10, 2015

Michela Walters Week 145: Hiding Amongst the Shadows

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Hiding Amongst the Shadows

Hiding down beneath a moss covered rock, I wait. My brother has been hunting for me for at least ten minutes. Our games of hide and seek usually lasted for hours, or until our mum called us in for dinner. The forest behind our cobblestone house went on for acres, leaving plenty of hiding places to be discovered.

“Come on Sylvie, I know you’re here somewhere. I saw your footprints in the mud.” My brother, Jeffrey called from nearby.

Peeking over the rock, I could see his silhouette to my left. I knew if I was quiet, I might be able to make a run for it and hit our home base, a large squatty tree that sat in the middle of our property. If I got caught before getting there, I’d be subjected to my brother’s evil love of hiding in dark, dank corners that usually had spiders or other creepy crawlies inhabiting. He knew I hated spiders and took a perverse love of winning the game because I’d usually run into a spider web before making it to his hiding spot.

I’m about to spring up and take off for the base when the biggest spider I’ve ever seen drops down in front of my face. My scream echoes through the forest, but I hear my brothers maniacal laugh above me, holding the dangling spider I skittered away from.

“Ha! You’re such a wuss. By the way, you’re it.” He saunters off towards home base after tucking the spider back in a nearby tree.

I stand up, brushing off my pants and head towards home. I’ve had enough of the game for today and need time to recover from my near death experience and to sort out my very own diabolical revenge plan.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Michela Walters Week 143: Rebirth

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: One

Title: Rebirth

Winter’s frozen tundra, stubbornly gives way.
Leaving renewed life pushing through the melting snow.
Surrounded by rebirth, the sparrow seeks

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Michela Walters Week 139: In Due Time

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: In Due Time

Fluttery kicks fill my belly with joy. Movement I never thought I’d ever feel.

After years of infertility treatments marred by miscarriages and disappointing blood tests, I am finally pregnant. It’s taken six long years. Years filled with friend’s well intentioned comments about relaxing and not stressing out over the process. Years filled with baby showers galore where I needed to slap a smile on my face and pretend to be happy, after all it was a joyous occasion. An occasion that only filled my thoughts with despair and dread. I even had to change dentists after he constantly talked about his happy family of six children and his wife’s miraculous ability to get pregnant at the drop of a hat.

“You’re glowing, you know.” my best friend Lily remarks, shaking me from my thoughts of sadder times in my life.

Turning away from the store window hocking fancy boutique baby items, I reply, “Thanks. Still doesn’t feel real sometimes.” My hand unconsciously rubs my burgeoning belly, as if to check and make sure it’s not all a dream.

“Except when you can’t tie your own shoes.” Lily grins, nodding towards my sneakers, one of which is undone. She bends down to tie them, as if I’m an invalid. Secretly I’m annoyed by the gesture, but I also know she has a point. I’m huge and without somewhere to sit, I’ll likely topple over like a broken weeble wobble.

I mutter a quick thanks, but am still unsure about walking into the overprice store. “I don’t know, Lil, can’t we just go to Target or something? I’m not sure I should register here, it’s all a bit -- too much--” I say, waving my hand in front of the window showcasing a tricked out stroller priced in the thousands.

“You think I’d let you buy this overpriced crap?” she exclaims, pointing a little further down the upscale strip mall. “I just wanted you to get a sense of how extreme some people get, I love Nine Months Later, it’s a small shop with a local owner who sells American made clothes, cloth diapers and the softest freaking blankets around.”

I sigh in relief, I know she’s trying to get me to be excited for this baby, but after two miscarriages in the first trimester and one in the second, I feel like I don’t have the right to be truly content and excited until my baby is alive, breathing and held close to my chest.

Lily brushes my arm, reaching down to clutch my hand. After being best friends for over fifteen years, she knows what I’ve been through and has let me cry on her shoulder more times than I can count. “You’ve had multiple scans and they are all looking good. The baby is growing normally, the amnio was normal.” She tugged on my hand, willing me to look at her. “You have ten weeks until your due date. Try to enjoy it.” She smiled her megawatt grin, knowing I couldn’t resist her overwhelming enthusiasm and optimism. “Try. For me? For Grant?”

I nod my head minutely, knowing she’s right. I can’t do anything more than be patient and hope for the best, even when that’s failed me so many times before. “I’ll try.” We continue walking towards the small shop in comfortable silence.

Once we enter, Lily leaves my side, telling me she’ll be right back. I wander around the cute store, fingering the lace edged receiving blankets and minky soft diaper covers. I’m admiring a particularly adorable onesie when Lily holds up a pretty pink and brown polka dot bag with the store’s name emblazoned upon it. “Here. Consider this your first baby gift of many.”

Opening up the package, I gasp. It’s a beautiful tan blanket with tiny giraffes embroidered on it. “How did you know?” I’ve been secretly thinking about a giraffe themed room for our baby, but other than painting the room a neutral soft taupe, I hadn’t said anything to anyone about my plans.

“Lets just say you wear your thoughts on your face and your emotions on your sleeve. When we walked through Babies R Us last week, I saw you pause briefly in front of the jungle themed bedding. You ran your finger across the giraffe on the bedspread. Call it a lucky guess.”

Hugging her tightly, I whisper my thanks in her ear. Her present acts almost like a switch and I can’t stop the jumble of words tumbling out of my mouth as I tell her all of my thoughts for decorations, strollers and disposable versus cloth diapers. By the end of the day, my cart is filled with necessities and a registry has been started.

“You know you should take Grant with you next time you shop. He wants to be excited too, but is just as afraid as you are,” Lily whispers, before she gets out of the car. “Let him in. You both have been through so much pain, why now celebrate the joy together too?”

She waves goodbye and I can’t help but smile and rub my gigantic belly. “You’re gonna be the most loved baby on the planet.”

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, February 5, 2015

Michela Walter Week 137: A Longing Heart

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: A Longing Heart

Miles apart, oceans between, my heart still beats.
It thumps in time, a rhythmic, depressing melody.
A constant reminder of the distance between my love and I.
Staring into the vast oceanic expanse, my heart aches and yearns.
Sensing the tug of the strings between the two, I crumble
Waiting for my longing to cease, my love to diminish and my life to return.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Michela Walters Week 135: Hopeful Beginnings

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Hopeful Beginnings

The clock struck ten. Another year was coming to a close and Maisy was still single, still a broke actor trying to make it big on Broadway, and still living in the same teeny tiny apartment she’d been sharing with three of her friends for the last four years. She’d worked more waitressing and bartending gigs than she’d had callbacks for and she was beginning to think it was never going to happen. In an two hours it would be a brand new year and Maisy was thinking maybe it was time to reassess her goals. Grabbing a notebook off her shelf, she wandered into the miniscule living room to watch the waning minutes of the year tick to a close.

She plopped on the ugly plaid sofa and settled into the one corner that was still slightly comfortable and flipped on the TV, scanning the channels for something other than Ryan Seacrest or Carson Daly. Settling on CNN’s coverage, she nestled down and began to think about all the things she wanted to accomplish in the year ahead.

When Maisy had graduated from NYU she vowed to give her acting career five years to come to fruition. This was it. If it didn’t happen by the end of this year, she’d told herself she needed to find some other way to make a living. She knew making it big was a long shot and vowed to not waste her entire life to capture the brass ring if it wasn’t realistically ever going to.

Jotting down her thoughts and dreams for the year ahead, she was startled to hear her best friend and roommate’s voice. She’d thought she was the only one hiding out from the festivities.

“Why didn’t you go to Fitzpatricks with everyone?” Sheila asked, wandering into the room holding a jar of peanut butter and a spoon.

Maisy set her notebook on the coffee table and simply shrugged How could she explain to someone that New Year’s Eve was her most loathed holiday right up next to Valentine’s day. The expectant kiss at midnight when no one wanted to kiss you was the absolute worst. One she’d decided she wouldn’t subject herself to this year. Maisy’s list of goals for the new year didn’t include sealing it with a kiss by some guy who felt sorry for her. Nope, she was going to accomplish all her dreams on her own. Screw men and their impossible expectations of women. Maisy was attractive, thin and personable, yet she somehow always landed in the friend zone. She was thankful for Shelia, Steve and Jackson, without them she would have left New York and never looked back. Instead they all worked together and tried to be the supportive family none of them actually had. Living together in the tiny apartment that had been handed down from NYU students to NYU students year after year was just a lovely perk. When the four friends finally decided to move on, they too would go looking for a worthy group of struggling artists to hand it off to. In the mean time, they just enjoyed living close to midtown, even if it meant they all lived in shoeboxes barely big enough for a twin bed and a dresser.

“You know the only reason Jackson organized a night out was because his buddy Robb is hot for you, right?” Sheila commented as she left the small living room and headed back to her bedroom.

Her words instantly perked up Maisy’s ears. “What do you mean and why - for God’s sake - didn’t you tell me before now?” she called after her.

“Oh, one mention of Robb and now you want to go to a party?” She popped her head around the corner, a look of impatience graced her face. “ Come on Maisy, he’s been interested in you for months and you haven’t given him the time of day. What would have changed tonight? The ball would drop, you’d look into his eyes and fall in love? Really? I thought you were smarter than that. Romance is for novels, not people like us.”

Maisy stood, offended by her friend’s comments. “What does that even mean?” She used air quotes to accentuate her words, “people like us?”

Sheila walked back into the room and plopped down on the worn sofa that had been in the apartment since before they moved in. “Don’t get upset, I just mean you and I are picky. We want a guy to be strong, masculine and assertive. We’re not damsels in distress, but we don’t want to stick our necks out and have them trampled on. I know your past as well as my own and we’re both just waiting for the perfect guy. I just wish it was easier to find him, that’s all.”

She understood what her friend meant, but by saying it out loud caused Maisy to think twice about her statements. Was she really such a diva she couldn’t see a nice guy right in front of her face? Hell, its not like she was some amazing catch. Robb had a job doing what he loved. Shit, if she had a devious bone in her body she could have dated him just to get in touch with his contacts at the broadway show he was part of the crew for. No, she hadn’t really noticed the shy guy who’d been popping in on their brunch excursions and dinner parties. No wonder she couldn’t get a date, not if she couldn’t even notice a guy flirting with her. Maisy glanced back at the Felix the cat clock, its eyes judging her with every tick and swish of its tail. Maybe it was time to do something about her lack of love interest by actually paying attention to the men around her instead of playing the passive, self-absorbed drama queen she was.

“How long do you think they’ll all be at Fitzpatricks?” Maisy asked, heading towards her room to change out of the sweats she’d had on since her shift at the restaurant had ended.

Sheila picked up the notebook where Maisy had written down all of her goals for 2015 and called out to her, “Think you might need to add get midnight kiss to this list. You know, maybe right between get an acting job and lose five pounds.” She chucked the notebook at Maisy and gave her a wry grin and told her she was coming with. “Shit, maybe Jackson has a couple other friends he hasn’t introduced me to yet. The night’s still young.” With a wink she was off to her own room.

Maisy stood at her closet trying to figure out what to wear and decided right then that maybe this was the year she was going to make her own luck, make her dreams a reality and finally kiss a guy at midnight who she actually wanted to journey into the new year with.

Fingers crossed.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Friday, December 26, 2014

Michela Walters Week 131: Christmas Kindess

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Christmas Kindess

I walk across town, knowing my presence will be ignored by any who are actually outside on this beautiful Christmas morning. A morning that feels just like any other day. With no parents to care for me, no siblings to argue with, I’m a lonely island. I’ve been living in my car, hidden in an abandoned barn near the rail station. The townsfolk generally leave me be, afterall, I’m eighteen and no longer a ward of the state.

The trek to the Kum and Go is a short walk away from where I live. Today, since I’m the only employee without any plans, gets to pull a double shift. The store is about the only thing open on Christmas, so I imagine I’ll be seeing plenty of haggard husbands stumbling in, reeking like wine and desperation that our little convenience store has their missing ingredient for their perfect family dinner. Mine will consist of a ninety-nine cent hotdog and a cherry slushie, a big feast indeed. Usually I just have water from the fountain, but today I’m splurging.

Merry Christmas to me.

The bell above the door announces my entrance and I flip on the lights and begin to open the store up, getting ready for business. I change the station from the annoying Christmas music that must have been playing the night before to the usual pop rock happy music Mister Jamison likes. While I know my job isn’t the best, most glamourous or upwardly mobile, it plays those few bills I have and will eventually help me get out of this small-ass town.

The day and night go by quickly, with only a handful of customers all day, I close up shop at eleven on the dot and trudge towards home. I can’t shake the feeling that something is off, and quicken my pace towards the rail yard.

As soon as I approach, I can see light coming from under the barn, which is odd since it hasn’t had electricity running to it the whole time I’ve lived there. I proceed cautiously, hoping if there is a new owner, they haven’t had my car towed, along with all my worldly possessions. When I creak the door back slowly, my eyes can’t contain the difference in the place since I left.

I step inside to see, what seems to be the entire town, bustling about. Jenny Morris finally notices me, and saunters over to where I’m still standing by the door, mouth agape.

“Merry Christmas, Abby,” she whispers, tugging me inside and closing the heavy door behind her. The clank of the door must alert everyone that I’ve arrived since they all turn at once, the din suddenly becoming silent.

The barn has been converted into a cozy house. My car has been moved outside and the large space has been partitioned off into little rooms. What looks like a bathroom is still being finished by Jenny’s husband, Steve and the owner of the hardware story, Tim Walker.

“What is all this,” I mumble being dragged around to the various areas by Jenny.

“The town wanted you to have a real place to live, so we decided to surprise you. We got the electricity restored, and the plumbing installed so you can call it home.”

My mind was reeling at the kindness of the town, but couldn’t figure out how I was going to get to stay on a property I’d been squatting on. “How is this possible? Who even owns this land?”

“Jim’s been meaning to knock it down and turn it into a parking lot, but the town council thought it was better served for you to have it.”

As if he knew he was being talked about, Jim wandered over and handed me an envelope. “Merry Christmas. This is the deed to the barn and the surrounding land. It’s all yours. Paid in full. You’ll only need to pay the electric and water bill.” His smile was so warm and inviting it brought tears to my eyes.

“Why did you do this for me? I mean, you bought me a bed, a table and a refrigerator? Who does that for someone they barely know?” I tried hard to keep the skepticism from my voice, but knew I failed based on their looks.

Jenny slung her arm around my shoulders in an effort to provide comfort. “The whole town knows you. We’ve seen you grow up and knew your parents long ago. Everyone chipped in. Tom was remodeling his kitchen and was going to get rid of the fridge anyway. The table was in Emily’s attic and while the bed frame was my Granny’s, the mattress is brand new, purchased by the donations made at the library in your honor. Everyone wanted to help you out. They know how hard you work and we wanted to give you a little something to be happy about this year.”

I had no words and could only give this older woman a fierce hug to tell her how much I appreciated all of their efforts. “Thank you,” I whispered, tears flowing down my cheeks. “We still need to finish a few things over the next day or two, but hopefully this will be much more comfortable than sleeping in that old Chevy.” Jim muttered, his gruffness still showing through the soft squishy center he was letting show through his watery eyes.

I looked up to the heavens and whispered a prayer of thanks to my parents and all those in this town who I’d never spent much time appreciating, but would now vow to pay their generosity forward in any way I could.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.” I shouted, wandering off to personally thank every person who stood around my amazingly refurbished home.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, December 11, 2014

Michela Walters Week 129: Hibernation Season

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Hibernation Season

“You’re not really going to eat that, are you?” Janice asked, not withholding the disapproval from her voice.

Glancing up from my plate, I simply nodded, my mouth stuffed full with the truffle oil fries Bellucci's Bistro was known for. Once i’d managed to swallow the fried goodness, of which I had no doubt would soon be residing on my thighs, I replied. “I have zero plans for a bikini for at least five months, this is my reward for my spring and summer of hard work. I haven’t eaten a single french fry, slice of white bread or chocolate cake since March.”

She started to admonish my nutritional choices, but I wagged a perfectly golden and crispy fry in her face and continued. “My holiday party was last night and I have big plans to sit my ass on the sofa in my comfiest yoga pants and do absolutely nothing but catch up on my Netflix queue for the next three weeks.”

I liked my co worker Janice just fine, but she was one of those people who would always be a size zero because she counted every single calorie that hit her lips. Life was too short for that crap and while I did like to remain fit, I allowed myself what I termed ‘hibernation season’. It was the expanse of time from Thanksgiving through the end of January where I allowed myself to eat to my hearts content. I still managed a workout here and there, but I wasn’t as strict about my routine. It was nice to relax, have a glass of red wine and not worry about how many minutes I’d have to spend on the elliptical machine to make up for it.

“What does Dan think about this” Janice’s raised eyebrow was more than enough to show me what she thought of my dieting respite.

Shoving another fry in my mouth I answered, “Doesn’t really matter what he thinks. He’s my boyfriend, not my dictator. Besides, he actually likes when I put on my Christmas weight. Luckily enough for me, it hits my boobs and ass first.” I knew I was being petty and a bit snide with my comments, but I didn’t really give a shit what Janice thought of my annual tradition.

Janice’s mouth gaped open, as if this was the most preposterous thing she’d ever heard. In reality, I knew she’d been longing for a boob job since her slight frame would never naturally give her anything but an A cup.

We continued our lunch in tense silence, but I for one knew life was too short to only eat salad, tofu and quinoa. Afterall, just like Virgina Wolf said, “One cannot think well, love well, sleep well if one has not dined well.” With this statement in mind, I allowed myself these two months of gluttony and for those sixty days I am never happier.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, November 27, 2014

Michela Walters Week 127: Owe Me One

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice:

Title: Owe Me One

It was the eleventh hour and Holly knew this was a long shot. She had one contact on the Men’s Water Polo team, but if he declined to talk the team into doing this photo shoot, she’d probably have to don a red bikini and hat herself, which wouldn’t have quite the same effect.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Holly.” Zack didn’t try to mask the disdain from his voice.

She knew she was going to owe him, big time, and yet she wouldn’t mind too much. Getting fifteen hot, fit guys dressed in banana hammocks and Santa hats for the athletic department’s annual calendar would be her coup de gras.

Every October, the various athletic teams would come together to support the biggest fundraiser of the year. It helped give some added funds to the groups that weren’t the football team. No, the only sport that mattered here was football, so all the other little guys had to chip in and make a little calendar to pad the coffers.

“Aw, come on. It’s not like you don’t usually wear a speedo.” Holly urged him out of the bathroom in her little off campus apartment,

The door slammed open and Holly had to hold in the snicker at the sight of this strong, well built and insanely handsome man standing before her wearing hardly anything but a Santa hat and a frown. He looked adorable. And really, really hot. Holly had to shake away her thoughts of washboard abs and beg him to do this favor for her.

“I look ridiculous. How am I supposed to convince all the rest of the guys to wear this? Seriously?”

He stepped back into the bathroom and emerged moments later in his basketball shorts and t-shirt. “I know this is important to you, but do you really think I can get Mooch to put this on? The suit isn’t so bad, but the freaking hat? What next? Are you going to make us wear those elf shoes with jingles on the toes?”

At the thought of the six eight beast they called Mooch in elf shoes, Holly let the giggle she’d been holding in, loose. “Oh, my god--” she laughed, “--could you imagine--” Holly bent over at the knees to try and steady her breathing.

“Jeez if I’d known it was so easy to amuse you, I would have demanded we get the shoes,” Zack muttered under his breath.

Holly jerked upright, worried she’d just embarrassed herself with her childish antics.

At the sudden movement, Zack turned back around to face the woman he’d been thinking about ever since she approached him about being in the calendar. She was beautiful in an understated way, with long dark hair and sparkling blue eyes. He hadn’t really paid much attention to her aside from asking for her notes when he’d had the flu and missed their Political Science class they were both in. He knew she was shy and didn’t like the focus to be on her, which is why he was so stunned to find out she was in charge of the annual Christmas Calendar fundraiser.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so carried away,” she said, mistaking his frowned features as distaste in her awkward behavior.

“Don’t be. I like seeing you smile.”

The comment sent a flush across her prominent cheekbones, enamoring Zack even more.

“If I tell the team we’re doing this, do I get a favor in return?” The wheels were turning in his brain, as he was plotting his revenge.

Holly chuckled uncomfortably, knowing this was bound to happen. She didn’t exactly know what on earth he could want with her. She agreed with a quick, jerky nod. “Sure. It’s not like I’m in the position to say no am I? I’ve booked the photographer to come by after your practice on Friday.” She winced, waiting to hear him ask for cheat sheets, or note taking duties for a month, but never in a million years would she have imagined what actually came out of his mouth.

“Come to the Zeta Xi formal with me?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he’d really had a chance to mull them over. He wasn’t sorry he asked,but was worried about her answer when her mouth gaped open and her eyes went wide.

“A formal? Me?” She looked around, as if he could possibly be talking to someone other than her.

His lopsided grin assured her he was in fact asking her. “We could have dinner maybe this weekend in case you wanted to get to know me before hand,” he hedged, not wanting to push his luck too much. “But yes, I’d love for you to come to the winter formal with me.”

Shaking off her shock, she simply nodded, not wanting to miss out on a chance to go out with the guy she’d been secretly crushing on since she’d gotten selected as the chairperson of the fundraising committee. She knew immediately who she’d turn to for the month of December, giving her a reason to talk to the outgoing captain of the team.

She walked him out to his car and discussed their upcoming date, still wondering how in the world she’d ended up in the win - win situation of a date and the photo shoot of the year.

“See you Saturday,” he called, waving his hand out the window as he drove away, trying to figure out a way to talk his burly three-meter man into wearing a jolly red hat.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, November 13, 2014

Michela Walters Week 125: Consequences of Curiosity

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Consequences of Curiosity

“Come on, Adam. Be a little adventurous for once in your life!” Ashley tore ahead down the path through the forest leaving her longtime boyfriend in her wake.

Adam felt no rush, he knew Ashley’s games by now, and he’d eventually catch up and they’d roll around in a sunny pocket of meadow. Her comment of him not having an adventurous bone in his body was a bit of an over exaggeration on her part, but he loved her effervescence and lust for life. Not to mention her lust for him.

“Catch me if you can…” Ashley’s sing songy voice rang out through the dense patch of trees luring Adam to quicken his pace.

The sun was flickering through the pines, sending waves of light onto the needle covered floor. “Ash- jeez, if you go any further its going to take us hours to find our way back to the car,” He shouted after her, trying to not burst her bubble, but he knew the pattern. They’d frolic and play, making love into the afternoon. She never thought about logistics or the fact they might just get a little lost and take until after dark to find the old logging road they’d snuck down when they’d spotted it off the interstate.

When Adam finally caught up to her, she was standing outside of what looked like an abandoned shed. “Still remember how to pick a lock?” she asked, a Cheshire-like grin blooming across her face.

“Come on, really?” Adam couldn’t contain the contempt from his voice. He had no interest in breaking into the ramshackle structure. It appeared as if just by leaning against it it might collapse. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention, giving him pause. “Why don’t we go expend some of our energy in a much more productive way?” He nuzzled her neck, trying to convince her to focus on him instead of breaking and entering.

She shrugged him off and pulled the barrette from her hair. Blowing a strand of hair out of her eye, she huffed, “Fine, I’ll do it myself,” and stuffed the sharp end into the ancient lock.

Adam stood back, waiting for her to grow tired of such a useless activity and one she had no actual knowledge of. “I’ll just be over--” before he could get the full sentence out, the door creaked open.

“Ha!” she exclaimed and charged inside, not waiting for Adam to call out a warning that it might not be safe.

“Heaven forbid she thinks before she acts,” he grumbled, rushing inside in an attempt at keeping his foolhardy girlfriend from doing anything stupid, or dangerous.

The shed appeared to be used to house hunting equipment, as the walls were littered with bows, arrows, Bowie knives and the tell tale blood spatter from gutting whatever animal must have been found in the woods.

“Wow, this is crazy.” Ashley started dragging her fingertip along the the tip of an arrow sticking out of a large quiver. “This is some hard core shit. What do you think this guy hunts? Bears?” She was so engrossed in examining the weapons she didn’t notice Adam backing out towards the door, tugging on Ashley’s arm in an attempt to leave its contents well enough alone.

The squeak of the door startled them both. Spinning around, Adam was faced with a scruffy man clad in camouflage and wielding a machete. A gasp was the only sound Adam had time to make before the man sliced easily across Adam’s midsection, made him drop like a stone and leaving Ashley to gape in horror.

Surrounded by numerous ways to protect herself, Ashley was frozen in terror as the man stalked towards her, kicking the shed door closed as he walked. She stood stock still, her body refusing to use its fight or flight instinct. Instead she muttered incoherently glancing between the bearded man dripping in Adam’s blood and back down to her lover that only moments before had been alive and well. She didn’t have time to contemplate much as the man didn’t wait for her to awaken from her standing stupor. The last thing Ashley heard was the man mumble, “When are people gonna finally learn that curiosity kills?” as he drove the blade into her heart.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, October 30, 2014

Michela Walters Week 123: Two Lives

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Two Lives

“We can’t keep doing this, Ramón.” Claudia mumbled, her discouraged voice barely carrying across the windswept patio.

His thick Catalan accent replied tersely from across their table. “Of course we can. Once you get rid of that-- how do you say-- idiot of a husband, you could come be with me all the time in Barcelona.”

Once again, her lover had oversimplified their situation. It was one thing to causally hook up at conferences, like the first time they’d met four years ago and an entirely other thing to actually plan to meet in Turkey when she alone was here for business. The guilt of her subversive actions had been taking its toll on her ever since Ramón had stepped up his courting from monthly to weekly. Her husband was beginning to wonder why her work was dragging her away from dinner and their movie nights. Claudia couldn’t tell him “oh that’s just the tall, dark and handsome man I met at a conference. The one who I’ve been fucking all over the globe for the last four years.” Yeah, she didn’t think that would go over well. Things had been so casual for years. It was merely a discreet tryst when they’d both happen to be in the same city for trade shows or conferences they regularly attended. The situation had oddly ramped up in the last six months with Ramón seeking her out more often, culminating in the trip to Turkey where he had no business being.

“Claudia, look at me.”

She finally turned away from the sea to look into his expressive eyes. “You know why I can’t. I have a life in Miami, my family, friends. You’re a great lover, but I vowed to never move for a man, and I refuse to do that now.” Claudia winced at the utter shock littering Ramón’s face. It was as if she wielded a sword and sliced him in two.

Standing, he withdrew from her touch as she tried to reach out to soothe him. “If that is all I am to you, then I think you’re right. We shouldn’t keep doing this, as my heart is invested far too much.

The wind picked up, blowing her hair in front of her eyes, shielding her from having to witness this man. This amazing specimen of sexy machismo that drew her in like no one ever had. Blinding her from having to see him be vulnerable and depressed. It was more than she could bear, yet she also knew it had to end. She loved her life in Miami, her job running the global marketing division of Beleza Cosmetics. Her fling with Ramón added a splash of adventure that had been missing in her, ships passing in the night, marriage. It was never meant to last as long as it did and the guilt was consuming her. When Mario and her had finally had a week straight of being home at the same time, they’d talked, reconnected and even spoke about starting a family. Something she couldn’t do without cutting the cord of her relationship with her lover.

“I’m married.” She exhaled as if admitting it was hard work. “You’ve always known that, and I never offered anything more than what we have.”

Ramón took two steps towards the door, before pausing as if carefully considering his last words. “That is your choice, love. But once I’m done, I’m done -- so be confident in your decision before I leave -- for I won’t look back.” He started for the exit and Claudia let him walk out of her life, hoping she wouldn’t someday regret it.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Friday, October 3, 2014

Michela Walters Week 119: Postcard Dreams

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice:  Both

Title: Postcard Dreams

The chair squeaks as I spin in the same circle over and over until I can feel my stomach lurch from nausea. My eyes track over the postcards littering the entire wall of my tiny cube at the call center I work at. I inhale deeply, trying to clear away the dizzy feeling in my head, but it only proves to remind me of how stale the air is in here.

The cards are not from my travels. No, I’ve never even been on a plane or left the comfort of the state of Iowa in my twenty three year life. We’re farmers, or rather my family is. I moved to Cedar Rapids in an attempt to get away from the corn, and the small town boys whose only future resides in the combines they’ve known how to drive since they could reach the pedals. My tiny studio apartment is one I can barely afford on my miniscule salary here at Watson Cable. I get paid to try and calm customers down from being furious because our outage is causing them to miss the Hawkeye’s game or some soap opera I thought had been cancelled years ago. Yep, It’s pretty glamourous here.

I finger the edge of a postcard of New York City, lit up in a cotton candy pink sunset that I think only Photoshop could produce. A wistful smile creeps across my face when I remember finding this one being used as a bookmark in a copy of Catcher in the Rye I found in our local used bookstore, Novel Hovel. It’s the start of my obsession in finding old postcards. I look for them at garage sales and flea markets. It’s my poor man’s version of taking a vacation I’ll likely never be able to afford. The words written on the back, sentiments I wish I’d receive from a loved one.

“See you soon!”
“Wish you were here.”
“I can’t wait to share this with you.”

My hobby fuels my imagination as I try to picture the type of person who wrote those succinct words crammed on the back of a card that anyone in the post office could read. Do they mind their sweet nothings being palmed by their sweaty overweight mailman, Dale? Where do people get the confidence to express themselves without a care of the world? It’s what draws me to each unique little momento. My own little way of escaping the mundane life I’m living.

“You know, you should maybe go to one of these places before you run out of room on your wall.”

I spin back towards the sound of my boss, Jamie. She’s always harping on people to use their vacation time and strive for a work - life balance. “Yeah, when I win the lottery, that’ll be first on my list--” I chuckle, “--actually it will be second to quitting my job, then I’ll head to the airport for a ticket to anywhere warm with a beach.”

“You know, the company sends the top customer service agents to the annual company conference in January, right? Maybe you should keep working hard and you’ll be chosen to head to New Orleans. I think that’s where it’s being held this year? It’s not a beach, but it’s definitely warmer and has better food than we do.”

“You think I actually have a chance at being picked?” My heart pounds in my chest with a mix of terror and hope.

She bends down to whisper her reply, “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I didn’t.”

With those few words she walks away and leaves me pondering a world outside of Cedar Rapids and into the possibility of sending a postcard of my very own.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, September 18, 2014

Michela Walters Week 117: Patiently Waiting

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Patiently Waiting

She sits patiently waiting for her master to finish her pier to pier swim every evening. Until the night her master doesn’t return.

I can only watch mournfully as a group of people dressed in black walk toward the sand, carrying paper lanterns along with their surfboards. People sit two or three abreast on some of the long boards and paddle out past the break. The scene is eerie as the lanterns are released just as the sun falls beneath the stormy blue waves on the horizon. As majestic as the floating, flickering lights are, my heart breaks for the dog sitting on the edge of the sand not quite realizing her master isn’t coming in from the waves this time.

Making my way down to where the dog is waiting, I sit beside her trying to take in everything from her perspective. The burnt orange sunset enhances the floating lanterns while the soothing words of In My Life echo in from the water.

My hand creeps towards the dog’s head, slowly trying to ensure she’s okay with my touch. She leans into my hand, nuzzling and moving closer to me. We sit side by side, watching the surfers catch their waves in.

“Kaylee’s going to need a good home now that Shelly’s gone.”

I jump at the deep voice’s comments. The man standing before me is older, with wavy graying hair that can only look distinguished when worn by a handsome man. “Sorry, I was watching from my deck and couldn’t help but come down and keep this ol’ girl company.” I stand and brush the sand from my shorts to shake his hand and speak briefly about the ceremony I’d just witnessed. The entire time we’re chatting Kaylee’s been snuggled up against my legs, her eyes never leaving the ocean.

My hand drops unconsciously to rub behind her ears when Tom reminds me she needs a good home. “She’s about five I think, but if you’ve watched her, you know well behaved she is and will sit and wait and wait until you tell her to come.”

“She really doesn’t have anyone to take her in?”

Sadness seeps into Tom’s eyes as he shakes his head. “Most of us live in apartments where we can’t have dogs. We were going to post it up at SeaShells bar to see if anyone might be interested in taking her in.”

We continue to discuss Kaylee’s welfare while the rest of the attendees of the wake stroll up to give the ol’ girl a pat on her head or a snuggle into her soft fur.

When all that remains of the memorial surf ride is a few dotted lanterns scattered along the horizon, I accept Tom’s suggestion. Just as I turn towards my little beach bungalow, I call out to Kaylee, knowing I would be picking up her belongings the next morning and trying to fill the very big shoes of her previous master.

“Come on girl,” I shout, patting my legs to get her attention. My heart stutters when she takes one last longing glance towards the ocean, as if saying her own fond farewell. I try again, calling to her with a smile and a joyous sounding, “Come.” The word releases her from where she was sitting, and in five long strides she’s bounding across the sand and meeting me at the steps to my deck.

Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “we can come visit whenever you want.”

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, September 4, 2014

Michela Walters Week 115: Life Whizzing By

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: One

Title: Life Whizzing By

Sunflowers speed past my window as the train carries me south. Far away from the hustle and bustle of Paris and into my quiet secluded summer home on Ile de Rey. It’s a tranquil respite, away from the humdrum of my everyday life managing one of the biggest couture houses in Europe. For the month of August, I leave everything behind in search of the peace and rejuvenation that only a bike ride through the salt flats can give me.

The briny air fills my lungs as I pump my pedals faster, in a rush to get to my favorite beach, a place where I know I’ll run into him again. He comes on vacation the same time I do, and from his accent, I can tell he’s also an expat like myself. Except I haven’t managed to speak to him, ever. We exchange shy smiles as we pass or a quick “bonjour,” as we exit the patisserie in town.

The surf is still low, enhancing its beautiful pristine coast, dotted with sunbathers already here to enjoy the spectacular weather. I walk slowly along the waters edge, pretending I’m not seeking him out, hoping for a simple glimpse of his dark wavy chest hair accentuating the muscular torso I spend the entire year dreaming about. Distracted, I don’t see the wave that swamps my legs, taking my beach bag with it. Scrambling towards my belongings, I’m shocked when it’s scooped up by none other than my fantastical knight in shining armor. He’s let his hair grow out since last year, it’s a bit shaggy and hangs in waves over his forehead. “Merci,” I reply, taking my soggy bag from his grasp.

He timidly nods, handing the bag to me as if it was something precious.

I swallow thickly, willing my courage to not fail me now. “Thanks for saving my bag. Although I guess I’m not going to get much reading done,” I pull my drenched book out, watching the drops of water sink into the sand.

“You’re American?” he exclaims, a face splitting grin appearing magically on his rugged face.

It wasn’t until that moment I realized in my nervousness I’d spoken in my native language instead of French. “New Yorker, born and bred.”

He ushers me towards a blue and white striped umbrella. We talk for hours, enjoying the balmy day and a chance to speak English freely. We’re shocked to discover we live only a block away here on the island, but while we’ve never seen each other in Paris, our apartments are across the street from each other.

“I’m a bit peckish, would you join me for an early repast, maybe some wine?”

Tom grumbles to himself at how selfish he’s been, keeping me from having lunch, the main meal served in France. “I’d love to. My friend owns a boulangerie on the other side of the salt flats. Did you ride here?”

We spend the rest of the month together, learning about one another and the surprising crush we’ve each equally held for the other since I bought a house here three years ago. He’s shockingly single and I take advantage of it to the fullest. Our last day on the island is spent packing up our respective houses for the coming winter before setting in on the train rushing past the sunflowers and headed for home. I can’t hold in the smile bursting across my lips. For this summer is the first time I don’t dread going back to Paris. I have a new reason to appreciate my apartment -- its proximity to Mon Amour.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Thursday, August 21, 2014

Michela Walters Week 113: Lost in a Book

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Lost in a Book

Turning the pages, she’s captivated and taken to a far away place. With every new tale, it whisks her from her dismal life and into a fantasy world filled with love, heros and possibility. All things she thinks are outside of her tiny reach.

She slays dragons with ease while rescuing the damsel in distress. In these stories, she never worries about if her mom will come home after work with food, or if she’ll be able to have supplies for school this year. The library is her castle, the beanbag corner in the kids section, her protective dragon, keeping out all the warriors trying to break through her drawbridge and moat. In reality, it’s the one place of solace in her crazy, disorganized life.

So she comes, every day after school and stays well past dinner time, all to avoid the Projects and the chaos that comes no matter what the time of day it is. She dreams of one day writing a book that might grace the shelves of this very place, and maybe, just maybe, help another little girl through her darkest days.

For Tanisha believes the pen and the sword are equally as mighty, especially if you get to write about slaying the big bad wolf.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Michela Walters Week 109: The Foreign Devil

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: The Foreign Devil

She awoke on the dusty floor, trying to sort out where she was and how she’d ended up here. Examining herself, she was dressed in a dingy blue smock-like dress, shoeless and absolutely filthy. Running her fingers through her grimy hair, she wondered what had happened to the shoes she vaguely remembered having worn. Vivian thought back, trying to focus amid her throbbing head to recall what she’d last been doing.

A creak coming from the low planked ceiling made the hairs on her neck and arms stand at alert in fear. Dust fluttered down with every footstep above. Hobbling over to the barred windows, she could make out a dry, dusty field, but little else. She tried tugging on the bars, to no avail, when a quiet voice rang from a darkened corner of the room, startling her.

“Tis no use.”

Vivian spun and walked slowly to where the masculine voice had come from, trembling with every step -- not knowing what she would encounter. “Hhu - how do you know? Who are you?” She couldn’t even try to control the waver in her voice.

The figure in the shadow stood, slowly as if doing so was painful. Coming forward into the dim light being cast from the single window, a man appeared before her, hunched so as not to bang his head on the ceiling. His hair was mangy and long, hanging past his shoulders, a greying beard fell unkempt, hiding what might have been a handsome face.

“I’m John. Been here a long time, if you couldn’t tell.” He chose to sit back down, leaning against the wall. “Have a seat. Not like we’re going anywhere fast and standing in here’s killin’ my back.” he muttered, pointing over towards the cement slab near the window. “Have they told you why you’re here yet?”

Vivian glanced over her shoulder as she walked towards the window to sit. John appeared feeble and emaciated, not a real threat to her at all. “I’m Vivian, and I don’t even know where we are, let alone why I’m here.” She fought hard with her memory, trying to make sense of her current predicament when an image of a small tan car and a bearded man jumping out to snatch her off the dirt road popped into her mind. She’d been walking towards her hotel, needing a shower and a change of clothes with just enough time before her news team was set to go on air to discuss the newest airstrikes. The flood of memories streamed through her thoughts, causing her to reel back, grabbing the window bars for support. She always knew being on the fringes of war, kidnapping was possible, but she never thought it could happen to her. She was careful, blended in as best as she could, sticking with the customs of the country she was in. She was so lost in thoughts, she startled when he finally spoke again.

“You look familiar?” He stared quizzically at her face, trying to place where he might know her from.

“If you’ve ever watched CNN International, I’m one of their correspondents for their Middle East desk.”

Gently resting his head back against the wall, John felt uneasy with the thought of an actual television personality being captured. This would bring this extremist group more notoriety than ever before, and usually there weren’t any survivors when the dust settled.

“Unfortunately seems like these guys have it out for us reporting types. I work for the London TImes. I’m guessing you’ll be forced to make a statement soon. They’re probably waiting until you’re so hungry you’ll do anything they ask for a scrap of bread. Just read what they want you to and don’t try to send any signals about your whereabouts. You and I both know how easily this can end with a sword to our necks.”

“Do you think the military will try to rescue us?”

“The motherland doesn’t negotiate with terrorists and I’m beginning to think I’ll be stuck here forever.” His dejected tone left her little doubt about his optimism level.

“But you’re a Yank, right? Maybe they will. Your Seals are pretty heroic when they want to be.”

Their conversation ended when the clomping of boots down a set of rickety old stairs caused them both to cower in their respective corners. The man looming over us was covered from head to toe, only his dark beady eyes were visible through the black and white head dress he wore. Vivian knew enough of the language to understand his rants at both John and herself as being the devils causing ruin to their country. When he waved his gun at them both, her heart dropped into her stomach. She leaned over and wretched what was left from her last meal onto the floor beside her.

The kidnapper grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look in her eyes. “One hour.” Thrusting her head back toward the vomit on the floor, he kicked her leg, reminding her to clean herself up.

She stared through the hair hanging in her face at his retreating form and wondered exactly what was going to happen in one hour. As much as she wanted to believe John, she’d seen what they’d done to other female journalists, and it wasn’t just talking sweetly into the camera.

And that thought absolutely horrified her.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Michela Walters Week 107: Summer Slidin’

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Summer Slidin’

Stephan wasn’t impressed with his parents right now. In fact he was livid for having to take the train down from New York to see some grandmother he’d never actually spoken to before. Not to mention he was headed to some tiny town in the middle of nowhere-ville Pennsylvania.

His parents usually took him with them when they jetted off to Europe for the summer, but for some inexplicable reason, they’d decided he needed to bond with his grandparents. People, mind you, he’d never actually met. His Mom had never shared what precipitated the family feud or any other reason why he never even knew these people existed prior to their discussion a mere two weeks ago about their summer plans. He was being forced to spend the summer in the country with the elderly, and he couldn’t be less thrilled about it.

The train was pulling into Harrisburg and he quickly stood up, trying to gather his suitcase and belongings before stepping out onto the platform. His mother had shown him a dated photo of his grandmother, but he wasn’t sure he’d recognize her now, more than twenty years since the photo had been taken.

Stephan glanced around the station, walking slowly to keep up with the crowd. Living in New York his whole life, he knew better than to stand and gape for fear of being run into by the guy behind you. It was a pet peeve of his and one of the reasons he avoided the tourists milling about Times Square whenever he could.

“Stephan?” an elderly woman shouted out to him, waving frantically over the crowd to get his attention. His thoughts immediately went to her appearance. She was shabbily dressed, like she’d just come in from harvesting a month’s worth of vegetables. The mere thought of getting his hands dirty made him shudder. Sighing with a curse under his breath, he waved nonchalantly at the woman and strode towards her petite frame.

She hugged him tightly, scaring him slightly with its ferocity. “So great to finally see you. I can’t believe Mary’s been keeping you all to herself.” His grandmother was tutt-tutting along as she took his arm and steered him out into the bright and humid day towards the parking lot. “Your Grandpa Joe wanted to come, but his back has been acting up, so I came down to fetch you. How was your trip? Are you hungry? We have a bit of a drive to get to the farm, so let me know.”

Her rambly sentences showed how nervous she was to meet her grandson at long last. Stephan’s reaction to the overabundance of affection was to clam up and try to sort out this strange woman who called him family.

“My, you’re awful quiet.” She rose a bony hand to her mouth as if realizing for the first time she’d completely forgotten to introduce herself. “Dear me, I am being horribly rude, aren’t I? I’m your Grandma Joan. So dear to meet you, my boy.”

Again with the hugging. Stephan could feel his ears getting pink from the embarrassment of being mauled by an old lady in public, but for some reason there was something about her that made him feel oddly comfortable and safe. If his friends at the yacht club had seen him now, he was sure to not hear the end of it.

“Okay, here we are.”

She unlocked the passenger door of a beat up white pickup that had to have been at least thirty years old. The rust on the fender gave it the appearance of barely being drivable, but when he got in, the interior had been lovingly taken care of. When his grandmother started the engine, it rumbled to life in a moment. “Ol’ Bessy’s been around a long time, but she still gets the job done,” she commented, lovingly patting the steering wheel. “Shouldn’t take much more than an hour, but we need to stop by the hardware store to pick up some supplies for tomorrow’s reunion.”

“Reunion?” Stephan groaned, looking out the window at all the greenery passing him by. He couldn’t imagine living out here in the country, away from the hustle and bustle of the city and its protective embrace of towering skyscrapers.

Grandma Joan looked over at him with a wry grin littering her face, “Ay, the boy does speak. Good to know.” She chuckled at her own attempt at humor, but Stephan merely nodded sullenly. “We have some family coming over for a barbecue tomorrow afternoon. Should be a chance for you to meet the whole clan in one fail swoop.” She glanced over in his direction and couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking about. “Imagine you have some questions for me, and while I won’t pull them outta you, know I’m ready when you are. I know this wasn’t where you planned on comin’ this summer, but I think if you give it a shot, ye might just find yourself having a grand ol’ time.”

Stephan tried not to smirk at her funny accent and way with words. Her cadence was relaxed and nonchalant, so different compared to the city and its rough tone and speedy delivery. His brain had been mulling over all the questions he wanted to ask this portly woman since he first found out about his major change in plans. His parents said it would be good for him to experience how the other half lived. At thirteen, it was about time for him to have an entirely different kind of vacation than their usual yachting around the Mediterranean. Sitting here in this rumbling truck bouncing down the two lane road presumably leading them to someplace outside of Shippensburg, he tended to disagree.

“If you’re not going to ask, then I’ll quiz you. How ‘bout that?”

He turned to face her, trying to get a sense about the person who he’d be forced to live with for the next six weeks. “Sure,” he mumbled with a shrug of his shoulders, even though sure was the exact opposite of how he actually felt.

“How’s your mom doing? Still have a nasty chocolate habit she tries to hide?”

His grandmother smiled wistfully, and for the first time since the trip was announced, he thought about what she might be getting out of his visit.

“I don’t know, good I guess?” He couldn’t contain his grin when he also confessed she was constantly leaving chocolate wrappers around the house in the most unusual places.

“I guess somethings never change. “ She exhaled deeply and began to tell him a story about his mom back before she’d moved up to New York. Way before she’d decided small town living was too embarrassing and had vowed to never come back. “Her favorite thing to do was go slidin’. It’s why we need to stop at the hardware store. Your cousins are expecting a slide, and I’d hate to be the one to disappoint them.”

“Sliding?” Stephan asked, having no clue what she was talking about.

“Oh, I forget you’re a slick city boy who's never had any fun in his life. Well starting tomorrow, we’re going have you wanting to come back here every year. You’re gonna head back to the big city tanned with ruddy cheeks that show you actually did something other than sitting on a silly boat seeing sights you’ve seen ten times already.”

With every passing mile, Stephan’s opinion of his grandmother was growing. Her warmth and amicability made him actually wish her prediction would come true. A life of leisure was only leisurely for so long. Eventually he grew bored of being cooped up with the same people and talking about the same mundane things. Maybe the summer would actually turn out better than he’d thought. “Still didn’t answer my question, Grandma Joan.” he replied with a smirk.

“Just you wait. You’ll know soon enough. Besides, me saying it’s like a homemade waterslide just doesn’t do it justice. Your Grandpa’s cooked up one heck of a run for this year, just you wait.”

The thought of his grandparents building a waterslide on their property made him smile. Stephan assumed incorrectly it was a mere slip-n-slide they’d been referring to, but their stop at the hardware store proved him wrong.

By the time they were pulling up to his grandparent’s big farm house at the top of a hill, Stephan couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “What happened between you guys and mom?” He was surprised at how weary his voice sounded, but after spending a mere couple of hours with the woman sitting beside him, he couldn’t figure out how someone would want to banish her from their lives.

“Ah, there you go. I was wondering when you’d finally open up. How about you help me carry these supplies to the shed and I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of iced tea and oatmeal cookies.”

“Okay,” he consented, yanking open the door to the truck and grabbing his suitcase and backpack out of the bed. “Leave the tarps and stuff, I’ll grab ‘em in a minute.”

His grandmother smiled brightly, knowing she’d already put a chink in his armor and they still has six more weeks to feel each other out. Hopefully by the time she shuttled him back to the train station, they’d have forged a relationship that might just mend fences that had long been broken.

Funny enough, Stephan was thinking the very same thing.

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Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

#DailyPicspiration